“I’ll eat with you. What do you got there?”
I take another sip of water and swish it around in my mouth before I swallow.
“It’s my favorite Greek place,” I say as I untie the knot in the plastic handles. “I’m not hungry, but hopefully there’s some flatbread in here.”
I pull a small, white paper bag out, and I’m surprised it’s still warm. I really didn’t get enough sleep. The flatbread inside is a little moist from the steam, but when I tear off a chunk and pop it in my mouth, it tastes like heaven.
I rip off another piece and hold it out for him to take it. But he opens his mouth, prompting me to feed him. I smile as I slowly place it on his tongue and his mouth closes around the tip of my finger.
My pulse throbs between my legs as he grabs my hand to hold my finger in place.
He pulls it out slowly and kisses my fingertip. I swallow hard as he releases my hand, and I get a whiff of something like cinnamon candy coming from the finger that was inside his mouth. Maybe he’s been chewing cinnamon gum while waiting for me to wake up. Whatever it is, I want more.
He takes the remaining piece of bread from my hand. “If you eat two of these, I’ll kiss you.”
A broad grin spreads across my face. “What will you do if I eat four?”
He spins his barstool around, then he turns mine so we’re facing each other. His gaze travels down my body, lingering on my shorts before sliding back up to my face. My heart races as he leans forward and kisses the corner of my mouth. As he sits back, his eyes are fixed on my mouth, as if he’s in a trance.
His gaze moves upward, locking on mine. “I didn’t realize your eyes are gray.”
My chest swells with anticipation. “I have hooded eyes. You have to get close to see their true color.”
I hold my breath as he reaches up and brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek. His eyes are fixed on my mouth, and it takes everything in me not to leap into his lap and kiss him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful… but I shouldn’t be here.”
My stomach drops as I wonder, again, if he has a significant other.
“What do you mean? Why shouldn’t you be here?” I ask, unable to hide the desperation in my voice.
He shakes his head, and this seems to break his trance. “I just mean you’re pretty vulnerable right now. I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Doing what?”
My stomach aches at the thought of him leaving. But something about my question, or the way I ask it, brings a smile to his face.
“Eat four of those, and I’ll do anything you want.”
I raise a skeptical eyebrow at him as I reach for the bag of bread. “Anything?”
He laughs at the hasty way I pull out another piece of flatbread and begin munching. My stomach flutters as he spreads my legs open and grabs the padded seat to pull my barstool closer.
I don’t know if it’s intentional, but the way his thumb accidentally grazes the crotch of my jean shorts feels possessive as hell. The feeling is confirmed as he grabs my knees and drapes them over his knees. Then he yanks me forward until I’m sitting in his lap.
“Holy fuck,” I mumble through a mouthful of bread.
His hands cup my ass to keep me from falling backward and a sexy smile forms on his gorgeous face.He’s enjoying my reaction.
“Eat for me, baby.”
I nearly choke on the remnants of flatbread in my mouth as I burst out laughing.
He watches me with a satisfied expression on his face as my laughter turns into a brief coughing fit. I hastily wash the bread down with a few gulps of water. And I’m pleased when I offer him the bottle and he accepts it. He takes a few sips before placing it back on the counter.
“Four pieces?” I say, glancing down at the half-eaten piece of flatbread clutched in my hand.
He looks pleased with my trepidation. “I knew you couldn’t do it.”
I gasp as I realize he set me up for failure. “That’s cruel.”
“No, it’s not,” he says, his smile disappearing. “It proves my point that you’re not well enough to be left alone yet.”
“Oh, in that case. I don’t think I can eat another bite.”
He purses his lips. “Finish that piece, and I’ll watch a movie with you.”
I reach up to touch his bottom lip, and it surprises me with its softness. “Can we make out while we watch it?”
He places a tender kiss on the tip of my finger. “I think I can do better than that.”
My eyebrows shoot up at the implication. “Like what?”
“Eat,” he says, and it’s definitely not a request.
I hope it was the answer to my question.
“You’re very bossy. You know that?” I reply as I nibble the bread.
He tilts his head and watches me curiously. “I know.”
“I want to know what you’re gonna do if we watch a movie. Are you gonna boss me around?”
His gaze flits toward my chest.
“First, I’ll kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before.” His hands slide up the small of my back. “A million times better than a movie kiss.”
“A million?” I say, my voice breathy as his arms tighten around my waist.
“A billion.” His gaze locks on my mouth. “Then I’ll trace my tongue along that beautiful neck.”
My mouth pools with saliva at the thought of him tracing his tongue over other body parts.
“Then I’ll kiss my way to those perfect tits. And I’ll take my time with those. Because, well, just look at them.”
I giggle softly at this compliment. “You like them?”
He nods and bites his lip as his hand moves to my ribcage just below my bra.
“A squeeze here,” he says, cupping my breast, “a bite there,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over my hardened nipple. “They need special attention.”
I have trouble swallowing as my mouth goes dry. “Then what?”
I lay the leftover piece of bread on the counter and grab my bottle of water to quench my thirst. He looks pleased with my reaction as his hand moves down to my waist.
“Then I’ll…” His voice trails off as his hand traces a path along my waistband until it lands on the button of my shorts. “Poke you in the belly button.”
But the moment he prods my navel with his finger, I drop the bottle of water, and it lands sideways between our chests. I leap from his lap, and he jumps off the stool, but it’s too late. Our shirts are soaked.
“Oh, my G—” I’m interrupted mid-sentence by a mouthful of bitter regurgitation, and I swallow it down quickly. “Oh, God.”
“It’s okay,” he assures me as he peels off his dark-blue T-shirt.
But the white undershirt he has on underneath is also soaked. Without a second thought, he removes that one too.
I clutch my sore stomach as I stare at him, slack-jawed. The man looks like a world-class athlete. He should be on the cover of a fitness magazine, not standing in my kitchen.
His tanned skin is smooth as silk with a light scattering of hair across his pectoral muscles. The definition in his abs and the breadth of his masculine shoulders would make Michelangelo weep. But the precision of the line that sweeps down from his hips and disappears below his waistline is the most beautiful invitation I’ve ever seen.